


All the Love I Have (Is In My Mind)

by xsaturated



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:03:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsaturated/pseuds/xsaturated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Rachel’s friends are the ones standing in the way of his chance at redemption, at love, the answer really has been staring him in the face all along. It’s just like the Spice Girls once sang in their memorable (if problematically ambiguous) musical debut; if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Also known as the one where Jesse is not-stalking Blaine and recieves a vision quest from the Spice Girls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spice Up Your Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missgoalie75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/gifts).



> warnings: Gratuitous Jesse POV (i.e. I’m sorry Finn, I love you).  
> rating: PG-13  
> timeline: Takes place during the Summer between S2 and S3.  
> notes: Beginning the mammoth task of transferring old fic to this account for archive purposes. Naturally I started with the most ridiculous. Title from “Lucky Man” by the Verve.

\--

What it really all comes down to is that Rachel Berry has ruined his life.

There had been a time when Jesse St. James was going places. A time when he was destined for the stage, for stardom, and absolutely nothing was going to stop him from getting there. 

He should have known from the day that he met her, really. It was already far too late for him by the time he realized what she actually was; he’d already been drawn too deep into her inexplicable orbit and even now he isn’t sure that he wants to escape. 

It’s the same, irresistible pull that summoned him back to Lima. That refuses to release him, even now that he’s watched her scurry back into the clownishly long arms of Finn Hudson.

It’s clear to him now that Rachel Berry isn’t anybody’s star; she’s a supernova. 

And whether she soars or implodes, she’ll take them all with her.

\--

He hates how much he loves her.

Before Rachel Berry, Jesse didn’t do pining.

Before Rachel Berry he never stood outside coffee shop windows straining to catch a glimpse of anyone’s face. This was never a part of his ten-year plan. 

Pining is a terrible look on him.

She seems happy, at least. A very different girl from the Rachel of last year, nestled snugly as she is between the shoulders of Hummel’s boyfriend and Mercedes Jones, positively beaming at people she can call friends without receiving horrified denials in return.

It’s kind of the problem, actually.

The Rachel he’d known had been an all-too familiar creature; driven and selfish and so very starved for attention. So desperate for recognition from her peers that a touch of affection, a half-hearted round of applause would snare her eye. She’d worn her plea of notice me, love me, like a brand. 

It had been like looking into a mirror.

This Rachel, encased by laughter and fond exasperation and people, stirs something a little hungry, a little desperate inside of him. Because, removing the Finn Hudson of it all from the equation (something that Jesse, admittedly, is longing to do), she has friends now. 

How strange that this, of all things, is what feels like the first true obstacle between them. 

Finn Hudson may be the oaf who somehow stole her away, striding around crushing hearts with his giant, oblivious, clodhopper feet to the ruin of any girl he so much as looks at, but it’s them who guard her from his reach. Her little line-up of talented misfits who, he’s certain, would tell her to stay far away from boys like Jesse St. James, some of whom might actually have good reason to.

He does love her though. Maybe that’s the real problem.

It holds him tight in place when he only wants to struggle away. There should be options here, he may not have UCLA banging at his door but that doesn’t mean he’s destined to dog Rachel’s footsteps, waiting for the day when she realizes all the things Finn Hudson cannot be to her. 

Rachel has changed though; evolved in some integral way that Jesse has failed to. She surrounds herself with people who somehow, inexplicably, understand her. Who, for all of the bite in their words and rolling eyes, like who she is.

He’d always imagined that some day the pair of them would blaze their way to stardom and leave Ohio in their dust.

Now he gets the feeling that he’s the one whose been left behind.

\--

It’s not like he’s sulking or moping or anything quite so tragic as that.

It’s not that he’s hanging around town under the mistaken impression that she’ll change her mind; Jesse isn’t nearly so pathetic. He’s even had a few promising phone calls regarding his Consultancy business (which, considering the New Directions showing at Nationals, is a minor miracle). 

Which, well, doesn’t actually explain why he’s still hanging around Lima.

It certainly doesn’t explain why he’s putting himself through the torture of watching yet another convention of Rachel and friends, laughing to themselves over coffee. He’s thankful, at least, that the significant others invitation doesn’t seem to have been extended to Finn yet. He’s not sure he can take that.

Instead he’s relegated to watching as Hummel and Mercedes band together to laugh over something that is probably Rachel’s wardrobe, judging by the offended expression on her face. Hummel’s boyfriend is smiling apologetically at her around the straw of his iced-coffee and Sam Evans has been staring out the coffee shop window with a glazed expression for the past ten minutes.

It’s idyllic. It’s awful. Jesse takes care to discretely leave before the urge to stride over, drop a seat in between Hummel’s boyfriend and her and demand her attention takes over.

He’d thought that losing his scholarship had been some kind of cosmic sign, a reminder that he had unfinished business. He’d thought that if he could set things right, if he could make the right decision this time around, that he could restore the balance.

Now he’s starting to think that this is just karma’s way of kicking him while he’s down.

It’s apparent that Rachel needs him in her life about as much as Hummel’s boyfriend needs that extra dose of caffeine (that would be, not at all).

Jesse sighs with emphasis, deflating onto a conveniently there wooden-bench and giving the Lima Bean’s cheery façade a half-hearted glare. And, while it strikes a precise balance of melancholy and longing, he can’t help but feel like it’s a disservice to himself.  
Jesse St. James isn’t the kind of man who stares longingly through coffee shop windows.

He could go back in there. Dazzle her with his charm; chase all thoughts of Finn Hudson from her mind with a reminder of everything he can be to her.

It wouldn’t work.

He doesn’t know how he knows, but he’s certain of it. 

Rachel has changed. 

Jesse casts a sharp, annoyed look sideways as someone drops down onto the bench next to him with no regard for his very pointed sprawl of melancholy. He can even hear every frighteningly nineties pop beat that pounds out of her ear buds, irreparably damaging her eardrums. 

Considering her taste in music, it’s probably for the best.

Strike that. 

Considering her awful, off-key, whisper-singing, it’s definitely for the best. Her poor ears deserve the break.

He glares pointedly until a bus pulls up to the curb (and at least that explained the convenient bench) and she flounces away, still mumbling about what she _really, really wants_ as the doors hiss shut behind her.

That, he thinks to himself, is what public transport does to people.

-

After that day it sneaks up on him; a phantom itch that persists at the base of his spine. Like something, somewhere, is trying to tell him something.

It hits him when he’s halfway along the counter at Subway, leaving him staring blankly across the counter at his disgruntled Sandwich Artist for close to a minute when she asks if he’d like to spice up his order a little (she’d been offering him jalapenos). 

It happens again when some asshole on a motorbike sneers, “Wannabe,” over the low growl of his engine while they’re stopped for traffic (his very transparent jealousy over Jesse’s fantastic leather jacket (and possibly his Vespa) at least understandable if not just plain sad.)

It even seeps into his weekly shared dinner from the local Thai place with Humphrey, the terminal-bachelor from the apartment downstairs (who wears his bathrobe like it’s a fashion statement and seems to be under the impression that Jesse is his long, lost nephew) who abruptly turns to him a few mouthfuls into his Gai Pad King and says, “This needs more Ginger.”

He feels like he’s missing something terribly obvious.

It’s when he’s running through his third-best audition piece and he can’t stop _Easy V, she doesn’t come for free; she’s a real lady_ , from cycling through his brain no matter what he tries to play (which, well, even Will Schuester would agree on the ill-conceived atrocity that is a Sondheim/Spice Girls mash-up) that it hits him.

His fingers still on the keys, a breath trapped tight in his chest as lyrics spin through his head and he exhales with a sudden explosive, “Oh.”

There is a moment of laughable clarity because, yes, it is suddenly all so very obvious.

All of those people, in their own ways, had been trying to point him in the right direction. They were signs.

If Rachel’s friends are the ones standing in the way of his chance at redemption, at love, the answer really has been staring him in the face all along. 

It’s just like the Spice Girls once sang in their memorable (if problematically ambiguous) musical debut; _if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends._

\--

It isn’t exactly stalking, per se; it’s just that in order for his plan to work, he needs to know exactly what he’s dealing with. Or rather, he needs to know who he should be dealing with.

It makes a surprising amount of sense now that he thinks about it.

It’s just like one of those documentaries on the Animal Planet; all he needs to do is lie low and wait for the weakest link to reveal itself. 

Rachel’s circle of friends is, thankfully, still very small. For all that the New Directions appear to have grown together, there are still very definite divides when it comes to who will willingly be seen together. His options for worming his way back into Rachel’s affections are, as such, fairly limited.

Even at his most optimistic Jesse knows that striking up a friendship with Kurt Hummel or Mercedes Jones is about as likely as Finn Hudson learning to dance without looking like he’s part-Walrus. As such, very unlikely. 

No, it’s the outliers of a group that make for the easiest pickings (and who is he to mess with a system that’s worked for the animal kingdom just fine since the dawn of time.) He needs to start small; find his very own wounded, little gazelle to pick off from the herd. 

Thus the not-stalking.

He’s been weighing his options for the better part of a week, because now that he has the plan it seems foolish to ruin its potential success by jumping the gun. He’s spent his days determining whether his prior acquaintance with Sam Evans outweighs the worth of Hummel’s boyfriend’s seemingly more meaningful relationship. 

He’s just settled on Sam (because the fact that he’s still referring to Hummel’s boyfriend as _Hummel’s boyfriend_ probably means something) when the first snag in his plan makes itself known. Or rather, unknown.

He arrives at the Lima Bean to find Mercedes looking downright morose while Rachel and Hummel adopt eerily similar looks of sympathy in their attempts to console her. 

Hummel’s boyfriend is lavishing more attention on his iced-coffee than is strictly decent (or advisable) when trying (and failing) to fade into the foliage of an oversized pot plant. 

Sam Evans is, quite noticeably, nowhere to be seen.

Well.

_Fuck._

-


	2. Wannabe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A plan is hatched, lives are changed.

-

Okay, so. 

New plan.

Sure, Jesse would prefer to be properly prepared. That was the hallmark of a professional, after all. Preparation. Practice. Precision. He doesn’t like going into a situation blind, is all. He works best from a script.

Apparently, that’s not going to be an option.

But for all that he knows next to nothing about him, Hummel’s boyfriend makes for surprisingly easy prey. 

Because, while Jesse’s not-stalking skills have been finely honed over the past week or so, he really doesn’t need them when Hummel’s boyfriend insists on coming to him.

-

The first time it happens, Jesse chalks it up to sheer coincidence. 

After all, his week of close observation has made it abundantly clear just how dependant the kid is on his (several times) daily caffeine hit and, what with the Lima Bean apparently being his dealer of choice, it’s really no surprise that Jesse would (nearly) run into him there.

It’s fortuitous, really, that he’d taken so well to his most recent foray into espionage. Sure, he would probably never get the tea-stains out of his shirt and he really wasn’t in a financially viable place to be replacing that old woman’s coffee order (or, in fact, her husband’s hip), but a meeting between them at this point, when he is so entirely unprepared, would have proven disastrous to the plan. 

-

Then it happens again.

-

Jesse has made it something of a habit, since his return to Ohio, to catch a show as often as he can. 

He’s found that trawling community theatre productions never fails to raise his spirits when he’s feeling the sting of grim reality a little too deeply. There’s nothing quite like a failed rendition of _La Vie Boheme_ to remind him that, no matter how far he may have fallen, he is still so much better than them. 

He’s just squeezing his way out of the line at the concession stand, making his way towards where he’d left Humphrey scowling belligerently at the modest crowd (thankfully minus his bathrobe for the occasion), when he sees them. 

Well, really, he sees Hummel. 

Whose hair is taking him those few inches closer to Jesus and may actually be wearing a cape. In public.

He tends to stick out in a crowd.

The boyfriend (and he really does need to find out what that kid’s name is) is tucked in close to Hummel’s side and reading aloud from the cheaply-printed program with the kind of enthusiasm that a community theatre production of _Peter Pan_ never warranted (the best Jesse is hoping for are some hilariously unintentional wire-mishaps.)

Jesse freezes.

They, of course, keep walking, their heads bent close together over the program and Jesse lets out an uneasy huff of air. The last thing he needs is Hummel muddying the waters with his slanderous accusations before Jesse even has a chance at convincing the boyfriend that they’re going to be fake best friends. 

Jesse spends the rest of his night slouched so low in his seat that he can only just see the pair of heads inclined together a few rows ahead; condemned to listening to Humphrey loudly sucking the chocolate from his Raisinets and spitting the raisins back into the box.

This, Jesse thinks, is what they must have meant when they said that all great artists must suffer for their craft.

-

And again.

-

_Hear, Here!_ is located approximately two blocks from the Lima Bean, boasts a particularly nice mini-grand piano, an owner who lets him put his ‘Show Choir Consultant’ business cards on the counter, and an exceptionally diverse back-catalogue of sheet music. 

It is possibly the only place in Lima that Jesse doesn’t completely loathe on principal.

It’s thus a little unsettling when the bell above the door jangles loudly and the owner looks up from the counter, pales considerably, then takes off for the back room muttering, “Jesus Christ, not again.”

Jesse, who has been preoccupied by an immersive re-reading of ‘ _Finishing the Hat_ ’ for the past twenty minutes, glances up at the sound of a door slamming shut to find the store under siege.

What looks like the refugees of a Brooks Brothers spread have spilled through the shop door, diverging into groups of threes and fours to storm the shelves of sheet music with terrifyingly peppy enthusiasm. And, lo and behold, in a sea of side-parts and boat-shoes, there’s Hummel’s boyfriend.

And yes, okay, he gets the point already.

With a huff of annoyance Jesse does his best to return his attention to the text that’s suddenly become incomprehensible on the page, a blurred mass of ink overrun by the babbling conversations of the group that have taken over the store. 

“Jeff, can you-“

“Shut up, Trent.”

“Nick, look-“

“Uh, hi.”

That last one, actually, is surprisingly close-by. 

Jesse looks up warily and finds himself staring somewhat stupidly as Hummel’s boyfriend follows his greeting with a belated, awkward finger-wave.

Of course it’s him.

“Sorry to bother you,” Hummel’s boyfriend says, well on his way to merrily crushing all of Jesse’s meticulously crafted plans for their first meeting. “But I was wondering if you-“

He’s wearing a bow tie. And suspenders. At the _same time._ What is he thinking?

“-Sheet music?”

This is not how Jesse’s plan goes.

Jesse’s plan involves a carefully staged bumping of shoulders at the Lima Bean. Jesse would offer apologies and a replacement iced-coffee (and some of that biscotti that Hummel’s boyfriend seems to like so much, too) and somewhere, amidst the confusion, they would become fast (and later, best) friends.

.. And, okay, maybe it wasn’t the most solid of plans, but he was working on it. Tweaking it.

How is he supposed to tweak his plan when Hummel’s boyfriend insists on ruining everything by butting in with his goofy smile and stupidly hopeful Bambi eyes? Stupid Bambi eyes that are just staring at Jesse. Expectantly. Like he’s waiting for something.

Oh.

He seems to be under the impression that Jesse works here.

Now, improvisation isn’t something that Jesse necessarily enjoys (he’s always secretly thought it denoted a certain laziness of character and an inability to learn lines as they are meant to be performed.) It’s times like this, however, that Jesse really wishes he were a little better at it.

“Yes,” he announces stiltedly when the wide, expectant eyes fixed on him start to veer towards concern. “I work here. Because I am an employee.”

Hummel’s boyfriend blinks owlishly at him, head tilting slowly to the side in clear confusion before his mouth drops open in a gasp, “Oh my god, is this your first day? I’m so sorry. We don’t come here very often because the Warblers pride ourselves on creating our own arrangements, mostly, but Mr. Jenkins buys in the most incredible a cappella sheet music and it’s-“

Embarrassing. This is terribly embarrassing. 

In his first act of faux-friendship he’ll spare Hummel’s boyfriend from what is becoming a truly mortifying monologue.

“Jesse St. James,” he cuts in, pointedly, and extends his hand because Hummel’s boyfriend seems like the kind of person who’d appreciate it.

There’s a moment of half-formed recognition where Hummel’s boyfriend clearly tries to place his name, words stilling on his tongue as he cranes his head again, before his manners override and he seizes Jesse’s hand and squeezes. “Blaine Anderson.”

It’s a good name, Jesse decides. Jesse St. James and Blaine Anderson. Jesse and Blaine. Blaine and Jesse. He could certainly do a lot worse than a fake best friend named Blaine Anderson.

“Now,” Jesse declares brightly, sliding ‘ _Finishing the Hat_ ’ back into it’s spot on the shelf and getting to his feet. “Tell me again about this sheet music.”

-

It’s almost too easy.

He makes a tactical retreat after the encounter at _Hear, Here!_ , buoyed by the easy rapport that a debate over the validity of yet another all male a cappella choir singing yet another ‘ironic’ female pop song had established and the fact that Blaine Anderson had been so utterly charmed by him.

Of course, there is the unfortunate implication of Blaine still believing that he actually works at the music store. Something he probably should have cleared up around the time he started slipping his business cards into various Warblers pockets. 

Still, for such an unplanned event, their first meeting had gone remarkably well.

After such a gratuitous run of good luck, however, he won’t be leaving the second meeting to chance. (Chance, after all, has made a running gag of kicking Jesse in the balls when he least expects it.)

He figures that he can treat this just like any other audition. All he has to do is prove that he is the best man for the role, or, at the very least, make Blaine believe it.

Jesse is fairly confident that he has this in the bag.

\--

“Hello again.”

Blaine lets out a soft noise of surprise as Jesse drops into the chair opposite him, arranging his green tea and plate of biscotti neatly on the tiny table between them. The wide, surprised eyes blinking slowly at him across the table only serve to further cement Jesse’s mental image of Blaine as a startled woodland creature.

An apt comparison, all things considered.

The Lima Bean is quiet at this time of day, only a handful of the tables have any occupants at all, something which Blaine clearly notes by the curious shift of his eyes around the room. By the time they circle back to Jesse he mostly just looks confused.

“Jesse,” he reminds Blaine lightly, trying not to let the irritation he’s beginning to feel show on his face. “From the music store.”

Jesse St. James is not the kind of man that people forget meeting.

“Oh,” Blaine breathes uncomfortably, “Um, right. Yeah, I remember. Hi.”

The smile Blaine gives him is sheepish and his eyes don’t quite meet Jesse’s before they dip back down to the book that’s since flipped shut with his wandering attention.   
Jesse doesn’t know what to make of it.

The rapport they’d established over stacks of music books seems to have up and vanished outside of the store. This is why Jesse has never cared to pursue the option of friends before; the benefits have never seemed to outweigh the sheer amount of work they present.

“I take it that your choice in sheet music was received well?” he coaxes, reminding himself that this is for Rachel.

“Nobody can dispute the appeal of Billy Joel,” Blaine responds immediately, head whipping up to meet Jesse’s eyes for the first time that day.

“As well they shouldn’t,” Jesse replies, popping the lid off of his tea to let it cool before easing back to peer thoughtfully across the table. “Billy Joel is an icon.”

They share amused, approving looks for a moment before Blaine ducks his head again, fingers tapping awkwardly across the abused spine of his book.

When he looks up again Blaine’s smile has slipped and he shifts to sit back a little in his chair. Jesse frowns as Blaine sucks in an unsteady breath before seemingly finding his resolve and eyeing Jesse carefully, “I know who you are, you know.”

“I should hope so,” Jesse replies, at a loss for what Blaine is trying to say. “I did just introduce myself. Again.”

Blaine very much looks like he wants to laugh for a moment, his lips twitching helplessly before he shakes it off and gives Jesse a meaningful look as he confesses, “My boyfriend is a member of the New Directions.”

“Ah,” Jesse replies trying to gauge Blaine’s feelings by the vaguely guilty, apologetic expression on his face. Hummel.

Whatever the reasoning behind the expression on Blaine’s face, it’s a significantly better reaction than he’d expected of anyone acquainted with the details of his dealings with the New Directions.

It could be worse. At least the morning he’d spent rehearsing his reaction for just such an eventuality in his mirror hasn’t been put to waste. 

Jesse pauses to take a sip from his tea before he reaches for his satchel. It only takes a moment to find what he’s looking for, a moment more to slide the neatly clipped pieces of paper across the table to Blaine.

When Blaine just stares at him, his face a study in indecision, Jesse employs his best winning smile and nudges the paper insistently against his fingertips. 

Blaine finally takes the hint, slowly uncurling his fingers to gather the pages between them and tilt them towards his eyes. Jesse listens intently in the ensuing silence, the muted sounds of the coffee shop dimming as he waits and then he hears it. A sharp, hastily silenced gasp of what may have been laughter before the corner of the page droops and Blaine is peering at him over the curve of crisp white paper.

“Jesse,” he says slowly, something amused buried beneath his carefully neutral tone. “What is this?”

Jesse employs his most appealing smile. “That is a comprehensive list of my numerous accomplishments and most impressive and attractive qualities. I have been told it makes for a fascinating reading experience.”

Blaine stares at him with the oddest expression on his face, biting down on his lower lip as he flips the page. “It’s uh, it’s – is that a headshot?”

Jesse blinks slowly, wondering if it’s a genuine question, before he assures Blaine seriously, “You never can be too prepared. You can keep that one if you like.”

There’s a strange, muffled noise that Jesse doesn’t really know how to interpret trying to claw it’s way out of Blaine’s throat and now that he’s paying attention Blaine looks almost distressed. Like he may be having trouble breathing.

“We share many common interests,” Jesse persists, because if Blaine is going to have an asthma attack it’s not going to be before he’s finished his pitch. “Members of the New Directions amongst them.”

When Blaine just sits there, his shoulders actually shaking, Jesse wonders if he might be having some kind of fit and if they’ll have to contact an ambulance.

Jesse has watched almost every episode of the first four seasons of _Grey’s Anatomy_ during daytime reruns since his untimely departure from Los Angeles; he’s pretty sure that by now he could recognize a seizure and at least make a convincing show of giving CPR. If it was necessary.

When Blaine gasps out, “I’m not sure I’m following you,” Jesse’s almost disappointed and not just because Blaine is apparently not quite as bright as he’d first anticipated.   
It’s probably best to just be blunt.

“I think we should be best friends.”

Of all of the reactions that Jesse has envisioned resulting from his proposal (most of which, admittedly, have been varying levels of enthusiasm and delight) none of them have quite prepared him for the reaction he gets.

“ _Pardon?_ ”

“Best. Friends,” Jesse enunciates slowly, because he’s not entirely convinced at this point that Dalton Academy isn’t some kind of special school. It would certainly explain the bowties.

“No,” Blaine replies and at least he no longer sounds like he’s ten seconds away from asphyxiating. “No, I got that part, thank you. May I ask what brought this on?”

Jesse is stunned to realize that, of all of the questions he anticipated Blaine asking (and consequently rehearsed and perfected answers for), that isn’t one of them.

He pauses, unable to summon an answer that isn’t, _I need to use you to get closer to Rachel_ , when put on the spot which, while refreshingly honest, isn’t exactly the kind of winning argument that he suspects Blaine wants to hear. 

Blaine stares back at him, far too curious for his own good, before he bites at his lower lip and drops his eyes to the paper still gripped tight between his fingers. 

Jesse stalls for time by sipping at his tea, racking his brain in search of something he can do to break the damning silence that is going to ruin everything. His eyes fall on the plate sitting neatly between them and it’s so perfect; he knew that sooner or later all of that not-stalking would pay off. 

“Biscotti?”

Jesse adds his most-practiced smile, nudging the plate further towards Blaine’s side of the table when he looks over at Jesse like he honestly has no idea what to say. “I’ve heard that it’s very good here.”

Blaine peers at him for a moment longer before admitting, “It’s my favourite, actually.”

Jesse feigns surprise, raising his eyebrows and sipping at his tea, and Blaine looks like he’s fighting back a smile as he shakes his head, places Jesse’s résumé and head-shot carefully to one side and reaches for the biscotti. 

He watches Blaine snap the biscotti in half one-handed, already popping the lid off his coffee so he can dunk it, the routine still as incredibly predictable as it had been during his weeks of reconnaissance. Blaine is sucking drips of coffee from the softened biscuit when he realizes that Jesse is watching him and ducks his head in embarrassment.

“Is this,” Blaine pauses to clear his throat, cocking his head towards the neatly typed pages at his side, “Is that actually your résumé?”

Jesse is struck by the realization that Blaine, in his carefully polite way, might actually be making fun of him.

He narrows his eyes, “It was specifically tailored for the purpose of-“

Jesse trails off at the sudden, dazzling display of teeth that Blaine quickly smothers behind a cupped palm, his eyes wide with surprise at the realization that he had been about to.. what, exactly? 

“Sorry,” Blaine breathes out, his words muffled behind his hand, “It’s just - you made a _friend_ résumé.”

“A true professional prepares for every situation,” Jesse replies loftily, narrowing his eyes at Blaine over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip of tea. “Just a little something I picked up during my tragically brief time at UCLA.”

“No,” Blaine gasps back, his hands flying up to wave inexplicably, “I wasn’t, well I was, but, what I meant was-“

Jesse raises both eyebrows, already feeling his spine start to stiffen because this is almost worse than that Junior Manager at Johnny Rocket’s who’d told him, to his face, that he should just go ask Mommy and Daddy for another cheque. 

This child in a bowtie is sitting there and mocking him.

“What I mean is,” Blaine amends, squirming and looking anywhere but actually at Jesse, “It’s – actually really nice.”

The indignant anger that had been starting to rise in his chest slows uncertainly and Jesse peers sharply across the table at Blaine who is smiling hesitantly at him. Apologetically. 

That bitterness that’s just waiting, forever prickling away beneath his skin and ready to rise up at any given moment dissipates, leaving him feeling strangely numb. 

Jesse shifts back in his seat and reaches for his tea, watching Blaine nibble awkwardly at his piece of biscotti from the corner of his eye.

This isn’t how this encounter was supposed to go. 

He suspects that might become a thing, when it comes to Blaine. 

“Okay.”

Jesse blinks, refocusing his attention on Blaine’s suddenly determined face at the unexpected declaration. “Okay?”

“Yes, okay,” Blaine replies, with noticeably more resolve. “I want to be your friend.” 

It’s the answer that Jesse wanted, that Jesse needed, really, to have any hope at clawing his way back into Rachel’s life, so he smiles, big and flashy and hopes that it’s half as convincing as the way that Blaine’s suddenly grinning at him.

He’s even startled into laughing at Blaine’s teasing, “You can start tomorrow.”

\--

That night, while Humphrey and some of his buddies are thrashing him at Poker and Jesse’s trying to ignore the quiet stirrings of something that a pre-Vocal Adrenaline version of himself may have recognised as a conscience, he receives a text from an unknown number.

He thinks, perhaps, that it’s a sign of things to come that he doesn’t even have to guess to know who the vaguely menacing; _I don’t know what you’re planning St. James, but if you hurt him you’ll have me to answer to,_ is from.

When Jesse reads that text he considers, just for a moment, calling the whole thing off. The hesitation sits heavy in his throat until he reminds himself that this is for Rachel and that Kurt Hummel is about as menacing as a Pomeranian.

Instead he thumbs through his contacts to the newly input Blaine A. and taps out a defiant; _What are you doing tomorrow?_

\--


	3. If You Wanna Have Some Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unkissing, Vespa Rides and Duets.

\--

“I have a boyfriend, you know,” Blaine points out warily around the straw of his iced coffee, like maybe Jesse’s forgotten since the last time he mentioned Kurt’s name (t-minus two minutes, and counting).

Jesse’s starting to think that Blaine just likes saying it out loud.

“I’m not gay, Blaine,” he repeats, for what feels like the millionth time since they met. “Even if I was, my heart is crushed. I will never love again.”

He’s been dropping increasingly less subtle hints about the source of his heartbreak since Blaine arrived. Blaine, it seems, is determined to completely misinterpret every single one of them.

“I once serenaded a Junior Manager at the GAP,” Blaine confesses after a few uncomfortable minutes of just studying Jesse, like he’s got some kind of equation scrawled across his forehead that could reveal the sum of who he is if Blaine just looks hard enough.

“I’m not sure I see the connection,” Jesse points out somewhat sourly, because this is not going the way he’d intended at all.

Jesse is starting to wonder if this whole friend thing isn’t vastly overrated.

“He got fired,” Blaine continues, “And told me I was jailbait. It was the single most mortifying experience of my life, which, well, I spend my holidays working at theme parks.”

“Huh,” Jesse murmurs, “That does make me feel marginally better.”

Blaine frowns.

Jesse wonders if he maybe missed the point of the story.

“What I’m trying to say is that, as awful as that whole experience was, it ended up bringing me closer to Kurt.”

It takes considerable effort to hold back the grimace that threatens to cross his face, but Jesse thinks it’s worth it when Blaine flashes him a significant look and smiles around his straw like he’s just done his good deed for the day. 

Jesse’s starting to think this whole thing is a terrible idea, which is probably why he’s so surprised when Blaine says, “You and Rachel will work it out, you know. If it’s meant to happen.”

And Jesse isn’t entirely sure what to do with a Blaine that’s insightful or trying to make him feel better, so he sips at his tea and scoffs, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

\--

The problem is that Blaine really is very busy.

He performs four days a week at Six Flags, fits in a truly obnoxious amount of time with his boyfriend around that and incorporates summer rehearsals with the Warblers on top of that as well. It makes for a surprisingly slim window of opportunity for Jesse to put his scheming into action. 

Being Blaine’s fake best friend, it seems, requires a lot of complex scheduling.

Luckily, Jesse’s schedule isn’t nearly so demanding at the moment (relative unemployment has it’s benefits, he supposes) and he has no problem whatsoever with making demands on Blaine’s time. Also, Six Flags isn’t quite as lame as Jesse had thought it would be when the passes come for free.

They’re sitting in the shade behind the stage while Blaine’s on his lunch break when he abruptly says, apropos of nothing, “Kurt thinks you’re trying to seduce me to the dark side.”

Sweaty and wearing the abomination of pastel-coloured polyester that passes for a stage costume at Six Flags, Jesse thinks that it’s quite the assumption to make, even if he was inclined that way.

Blaine seems to think it’s funny at least, grinning at him as he holds a water bottle to his flushed neck and sprawls in the grass, slapping idly at the bugs leaping across his skin. “He says you’re a no good Lothario who can’t be trusted.”

Jesse perks up a little. “He does?”

Blaine glances sideways at him, amused. “I don’t think that it was intended as a compliment, somehow.”

“And what do you think?” Jesse asks, propping himself up on his eyebrows to watch Blaine’s face as he closes his eyes and shifts lazily into a more comfortable position.

“I think that Kurt can be a little melodramatic, sometimes,” Blaine replies lightly, cracking an eye open to peer over at Jesse with interest. “I also think that you’re my friend and I could trust you, if I ever needed to.”

Jesse isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say to that. It’s only been two weeks since that day in the coffee shop and, while being Blaine’s fake best friend has been a surprisingly easy role to slip into, Jesse still isn’t sure what’s going on in that dopily optimistic head of his half the time. 

“Best friend,” Jesse corrects after a moment, determined to ignore the uncomfortable gnawing in his stomach that he thinks might be guilt. Or possibly a tapeworm.

“Right,” Blaine agrees with a lazy grin, cracking his other eye open to squint over at him. “Best friend.”

-

During what Jesse has taken to calling the surveillance phase of his and Blaine's fake-friendship, Jesse likes to think that he'd learned quite a bit about Blaine as a person. Since actually spending time with Blaine, however, Jesse's found that some of his initial impressions have proven to be very, very wrong. 

Sure, Blaine still smiles too much and he has a strange and complicated relationship with full length trousers, but he's also, actually, surprisingly interesting. Sometimes.

Like now, for instance.

Blaine's been shifting uncomfortably in his seat since they sat down, seemingly on the verge of telling Jesse something before backing down, over and over again. 

It's surprisingly entertaining.

Jesse watches as Blaine chews thoughtfully on his lower lip, drums his fingertips across the edge of the table before frowning and taking a long sip of coffee from his cup.

It's almost like having coffee with a cartoon character.

Jesse’s barely containing the urge to ask him if he’s ever considered switching to decaf when Blaine glances furtively over at him and finally blurts out in a hushed, nervous voice, “I don’t think Mercedes likes me very much,” it’s almost a relief.

Blaine seems surprised that he’s actually come out and said it, like he kind of wants to cover his mouth and hope that Jesse just doesn’t acknowledge it.

And while the likes and dislikes of Mercedes Jones aren’t really a topic that Jesse has any particular interest in, Mercedes is one step closer to Rachel, so he figures that he may as well indulge Blaine. Just this once. 

Jesse quirks an eyebrow and takes a slow sip of his tea.

“I mean,” Blaine continues, clearly encouraged by Jesse’s apparent interest, even if he is stumbling over his words and refusing to meet Jesse’s eye. “She’s never said anything, but sometimes I get this feeling like she’d rather I wasn’t there.”

There are very few people in this world that Jesse has stopped to consider beyond their potential (or lack thereof) as a performer. Mercedes Jones is not one of them.

But from what Jesse has come to understand about Mercedes, insofar as his limited interactions with her have gone, she isn’t exactly the type of person who keeps her opinions to herself. He imagines that if she doesn’t like you (which, well, he does have unique insight on that, at least) than she’d let you know about it.

He tells Blaine as much.

The honest surprise on Blaine’s face when teamed with that self-deprecating laugh almost makes the entire exercise worth it.

Jesse suspects that he’s actually quite good at this fake best friend thing.

-

After that initial conversation it’s like a dam has been broken.

When Mercedes’ new boyfriend proves to be a mountain of a man-child that Blaine is uncomfortable around for reasons he doesn’t seem willing to disclose, he tells Jesse.

When Mercedes almost completely stops hanging out with Rachel and Kurt (and by extension, Blaine) in favor of hanging out with said man-child mountain, he tells Jesse.

And when Kurt and Rachel’s conversations almost exclusively turn to their plans for New York and college and next year, Blaine, quite miserably, tells Jesse.

And Jesse isn’t entirely sure why Blaine seems to think that he is a good person to vent his insecurities to, but it does provide a surprisingly insightful window into Rachel’s life.

-

He doesn’t want to jinx himself, but Jesse thinks he might actually be making progress.

Blaine has been bringing Rachel into their conversations more and more of his own accord recently. Sure, most of the time she’s mentioned entirely by proxy (Jesse has quickly found that Blaine is just brimming with insecurities over Kurt and Rachel’s increasingly more frequent (and exclusive) conversations about New York and Jesse is starting to suspect that Blaine’s frank confessions are something of a retaliation fueled by his feelings of exclusion), but he also seems to genuinely like her in her own right.

Today (with only a minimal amount of prompting) Blaine has been cheerfully filling in the blanks on just how he and Rachel became friends.

It isn’t exactly Blaine plotting with him to overthrow Finn Hudson’s tyrannical claim on Rachel’s heart, but it’s considerably more stimulating conversation than the one they’d had about Hummel’s skincare regiment, so there is that.

Besides, hearing about Rachel’s first house-party is sweet, in it’s own way, even if Blaine seems decidedly fuzzy on the details. 

“-I mean, I’ve had a few interesting encounters at Dalton parties before, but I don’t think I’ve ever been quite that drunk. I still can’t believe I actually kissed Rachel-“

Sure, Blaine’s stories tend to get a little rambly but Jesse’s found that they’re considerably more interesting when they involve alcohol. He’s yet to actually meet drunk-Blaine, but Jesse thinks that he would probably be quite a fan. More to the point, he might actually be Jesse’s favourite version of Blaine yet.

And – 

\- Wait.

“You what, now?”

Blaine blinks at him in surprise, probably from being cut-off mid-sentence, but Jesse is pretty sure that it’s warranted. No. He’s certain that it’s warranted because clearly a mistake has been made. 

Blaine kissed Rachel? 

Rachel kissed Blaine?

It’s ridiculous. Blaine is the mental equivalent of one of those tiny dogs that starlets dress up in novelty outfits and carry around in their handbags. He wears bowties with short-sleeves. He works at theme-parks.

Hell, he may as well be homeschooled.

Oh.

God.

No wonder Rachel kissed him.

Well. There really is only one thing for it.

“Jesse!”

Blaine physically recoils, a hand flying up to delicately cover his lips. His face is suddenly very pink and, if Jesse’s being honest, he looks more than slightly horrified. “Wh- what was that?”

“I kissed you,” Jesse replies patiently. “Well technically, I unkissed you.”

The explanation doesn’t seem to have helped.

“Why?” Blaine gasps, before frowning and amending, “I mean - what? - No, I definitely mean why?”

“You kissed Rachel,” Jesse points out coolly, because it’s really quite simple if Blaine would just take the time to look at things rationally. 

And, really, it’s not like he just got kissed by some troll with no concept of personal hygiene, the overblown horror is really taking things a step too far. Jesse is impeccably groomed. And very handsome. He’s a catch. 

Any gay boy should _be_ so lucky as to be kissed by Jesse.

Looking at Blaine’s face as he frantically rubs at his lips with the back of his hand, however, he remembers that Blaine isn’t like most people. 

“You kissed _Rachel_ ,” Jesse reiterates, willing Blaine to understand.

“ _So?_ ” Blaine yelps back and he actually looks mildly upset about the whole thing, which, well, Jesse’s always known there was something wrong with him, but really. 

He should’ve figured, what with the dating Hummel and all.

“I had to cancel it out,” Jesse explains patiently, “You kissed Rachel. I kissed you. Now it doesn’t count.”

Blaine’s whole face screws up into an entirely unattractive expression that Jesse doesn’t quite know how to interpret before Blaine’s hand finally drops down from his mouth to rest on his knee. He’s still watching Jesse warily, like if he looks away for just a moment Jesse might pounce on him again.

“It’s not like I’m going to kiss you again, you don’t have to look at me like I’m here to claim your virtue,” Jesse adds, because he’s starting to feel just the slightest bit miffed. 

“By that logic you should be off kissing Finn, you know,” Blaine mutters.

“That’s offensive.”

Blaine blinks at him, the accusation on his face melting away with the slow tilt of his head. He looks vaguely reminiscent of a baby bird.

“I- just,“ Blaine shakes his head as if he can physically cast off that particular line of thought before continuing. “What I meant to say is that doesn’t make any sense. You kissing me doesn’t mean that those other kisses never happened.”

“Kisses,” Jesse repeats flatly. “As in _plural._ ”

The pink that had been fading from Blaine’s face returns full-force and he shrinks back as if expecting Jesse to lunge at him again. “I don’t really remember much of that night, okay, we played Spin the Bottle and then we sung what she assures me was a very dynamic and engaging duet and-“

Jesse isn’t entirely sure of what happens then. All he knows is that the word ‘duet’ is in the air and he’s suddenly on his feet, an accusatory finger poised inches from Blaine’s nose and the words, “You are a _terrible_ , gay best friend,” have just left his mouth.

It’s only when he notices just how confused Blaine looks that he realizes that maybe he is overreacting. Just a little. His finger trembles in mid-air and Jesse carefully reigns himself back in, tucking his hands into his pockets and breathing slowly.

Okay. It isn’t that bad. He can fix it.

“I will be by at six to pick you up,” Jesse says after taking a moment to collect himself. “Dress appropriately.”

Jesse pauses, eying the monstrosity of a bowtie that’s swallowing half of Blaine’s throat, and amends, “And by appropriately, I mean stay out of your grandfather’s wardrobe.”

Blaine’s eyes go impossibly wider and he looks like he’s actually going to try and defend his outfit, which would just be embarrassing for everyone involved, so Jesse shakes his head and repeats, “Six o’clock.”

He turns on his heel and leaves before the Bambi-eyes can make a comeback.

\--

“How do you know where I live?” Blaine asks suspiciously from behind the cracked open door.

Jesse greets him with a pointed sweep of his eyes, an equally pointed, “No,” and nudges the door open wider with his shoulder so he can walk right in.

“Pardon?”

“I refuse to be seen in public with that sweater vest.” Jesse pauses to further consider Blaine’s outfit before he adds, “Or that bowtie.”

“Kurt likes this sweater vest,” Blaine replies woundedly, his fingers brushing self-consciously at the hideous thing sprouting from his neck.

“Hummel has clearly lost the power of sight,” Jesse retorts, pushing at Blaine’s shoulder to get him to move. “Change. Now.”

Blaine huffs, clearly offended, and Jesse follows on his heels up a staircase and down a hall lined with dark-framed photographs of stark, black and white landscapes. He trails Blaine into what is clearly his bedroom and moves immediately to begin rummaging through his wardrobe.

“Careful,” he hears Blaine gasp in a scandalized tone as a shirt is tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder. “Jesse, this is Brooks Brothers.”

Jesse resists the urge to do anything so plebeian as snort, though it’s a close call. 

It takes a bit of searching before Jesse manages to locate some relatively inoffensive items in Blaine’s closet and he feels strangely accomplished as he brandishes them at Blaine pointedly. 

He also, rather magnanimously, chooses to ignore that Blaine has carefully collected the items that Jesse evicted from his wardrobe (and apparently even that hadn’t been a strong enough hint) and folded them neatly over the arm of a red-leather armchair.

Blaine eyes the armful of clothing warily and Jesse scoffs and employs his most judgmental stare. “Like Hummel doesn’t hand-pick half your wardrobe anyway.”

Blaine hesitates for only a moment before he gives in, sighs, and shuffles off out the door with his armful of clothing, muttering beneath his breath. 

If there’s anything that Jesse has learned about his fake best friend over the past few weeks, it’s that his pervasive need to win the approval of everyone he knows makes it absurdly easy to get him to do things. It is, in Jesse’s opinion, one of his best qualities.

With Blaine gone it feels like it’s practically Jesse’s duty to take advantage of the empty room to do some snooping. Passing up such an opportunity would be wasteful, even at this point in the game.

He avoids the obnoxious assortment of framed photographs of Blaine and Hummel in all their sickening couple-y glory with a sneer, peers for a moment at the image of a much younger Blaine and what must be his older brother with their arms wrapped around a gigantic, black bear of a dog, before pausing before a shelf full of awards, trophies and certificates with interest. 

He’s inspecting a particularly large trophy that appears to be for a Polo competition when Blaine reappears in the doorway, his previous outfit bundled under one arm and a flat, unamused expression on his face. He sweeps past Jesse to place his folded clothing on top of the pile of displaced clothes on the armchair before turning back to face him.

“Much better,” Jesse declares when Blaine simply stares at him, one eyebrow cocked pointedly, like that alone should convey his feelings, and doesn’t say anything.

“I look,” Blaine declares stiffly, snapping a suspender loudly against his chest for emphasis, “Like _you._ ”

“As I said,” Jesse repeats, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Much better. I mean, I had to work with what I had and I like to think that the suspenders were a nice compromise, but I think the overall effect was quite a success. If we had time I would tackle the nightmare you have inflicted on your hair.”

When Blaine simply stares at him, his mouth agape in a way that isn’t particularly flattering at all, Jesse eyes his hair thoughtfully and shakes his head, before pressing on, “Perhaps another time. Now come along, Blaine, we have to get there before all the good songs are taken.”

\--

“What is that?”

Jesse sighs in annoyance and turns, mid-fastening his helmet, to award Blaine his attention. He’d always assumed that Hummel was the high-maintenance one in that relationship. 

Now he’s starting to suspect otherwise.

Blaine has paused about halfway down the driveway, his eyes trained on Jesse’s Vespa with an expression that could only be described as dubious.

“This is Vera,” Jesse replies, snapping his helmet firmly into place before hauling the spare helmet out from storage, popping the seat back into place and extending it in Blaine’s general direction. “Put this on.”

Blaine doesn’t budge an inch, his eyes shifting uncertainly between Vera and the helmet Jesse’s offering him. “You drive a scooter?” 

“Vespa,” Jesse corrects and jiggles the helmet pointedly in Blaine’s direction. “Put it on. I will hold you personally accountable if I get stuck singing Gloria Gaynor.”

“We could take my car,” Blaine offers awkwardly, pointedly not taking the helmet from Jesse’s hands and shifting back another step.

“You drive a Mom-Mobile,” Jesse retorts and strides forward to plonk the helmet onto Blaine’s head himself. “Don’t think I don’t know what this is really about, Blaine.”

Blaine turns a vivid shade of pink, his face shifting guiltily before he opens his mouth, undoubtedly to apologize because Blaine seems to do a lot of that, just as Jesse snaps the chinstrap together for him. His mouth falls shut when Jesse raps his knuckles across the top of the helmet.

“You think that Hummel would be jealous if he saw you riding around on the back of my Vespa,” Jesse surmises before moving back to Vera to get himself seated. “And, while his jealousy would be understandable, it would at least have the benefit of livening up your horrifically boring love life.”

“Right,” Blaine replies flatly. “That is why I don’t want to ride on your scooter.”

Jesse rolls his eyes. “My Vespa gets great mileage and is fantastic for parking. Hop on.”

Blaine shifts uncomfortably on the sidewalk before letting out a resigned sigh and trudging miserably towards the Vespa. His helmet is ever so slightly too big for him and the visor almost entirely covers his eyes.

Jesse pats the seat behind him encouragingly and Blaine lets out another monumental sigh before heaving himself up behind Jesse.

“Where exactly are we going, again?”

-

It turns out that Blaine is a terrible passenger.

“Why is it going so slow?” he hisses into Jesse’s ear, his face turned away from where he’s had it buried in the back of Jesse’s shoulder for the first time since he sat down.

“She isn’t used to the extra weight,” Jesse snaps back, a little defensively because it’s not Vera’s fault that Blaine is much heavier than his teeny, tiny frame looks. 

Anyone would think Blaine was embarrassed to be seen on her.

“We’re almost there,” Jesse adds when he feels the visor on Blaine’s helmet thunk back into his shoulder blade.

Jesse sighs as another round of catcalls start up and someone who’s a little too fond of their car-horn overtakes them. 

Again. 

Jesse isn’t sure what it is about Vespas that seems to bring out people’s insecurities about their own vehicles, but he’s grown used to their envy by now.

Jesse manages to get a park right outside the entrance (one of the many perks of owning a Vespa, as he explains to Blaine) and Blaine slinks off of the back, his head dipped low and his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he asks, “Please, don’t ever tell Kurt about this.”

Jesse rolls his eyes and pats the top of Blaine’s helmet (the compulsion to treat Blaine like a small child is infinitely heightened when he sounds so pathetic) and finds himself agreeing.

There will be plenty of other opportunities to make Hummel seethe with jealousy anyway.

\--

There are precisely three reasons that Jesse chooses Rinky Dinks as the location of what he has decided will be a defining moment in his and Blaine’s burgeoning fake-friendship.

The first is that the karaoke set-up is far superior to any other that can be found inside Lima’s city-limits. Give or take the number of skaters on any given night, Jesse would wager that the acoustics inside the rink are even better than the average school auditorium.

The second is that the stage, and subsequently the lighting set-up, is surprisingly sophisticated for a place that’s house specialty is microwaved Nachos. It’s no Vocal Adrenaline light-show, but it’s the closest thing that Jesse’s found since leaving Carmel.

The third, and probably the most important, is that he’s been performing there regularly on their Karaoke Tuesdays since his return to Ohio and over the past few months, it’s almost begun to feel like his own home turf. 

What he isn’t sure about is if his decision to bring Blaine here was out of a need to have the home-field advantage or if he just wants to share the place with him. He is leaning strongly towards the former.

Blaine, however, is seemingly oblivious to any of Jesse’s intentions in bringing him here. In fact, if the absurd expression of doe-eyed delight is any indication, he’s already completely enamoured with the place. It’s frankly kind of embarrassing.

Anyone would think he’d never seen a mirror-ball before.

Jesse wastes no time in elbowing his way past a few regulars to get to the sign-up sheets. He scans the songlist with narrowed eyes, determined to pick the perfect song to cancel out whatever dynamic and engaging duet Rachel and Blaine may have performed on the Berry’s basement-stage.

Which well, brings him neatly to his second problem of the night.

“Eighties night!” Blaine gasps, his smile practically enveloping his entire face as he watches a girl with a neon-orange sweatband skate past, before turning to unleash that terrible smile on Jesse. “I can’t believe Kurt never told me about this place!”

Jesse suspects that he might know why.

“Oh, I love that song,” Blaine continues brightly as he leans over to peer at the songlist Jesse’s been skimming. “That would be a really good choice.”

Jesse follows Blaine’s finger to the space where it hovers somewhere in the vicinity of a Robert Palmer and a Paul Simon song and promptly decides that it really doesn’t matter which one Blaine had actually meant. “No.”

He tries to tune out the way that Blaine shifts a little closer to better see the songlist, resisting the urge to block him with his shoulder only by reminding himself that he’s supposed to be pretending to be Blaine’s friend. 

“Aha!” Jesse declares victoriously, grabbing for the sign-up sheet so he can claim the song immediately (he knows, by now, how competitive the circuit can be over crowd favourites.)

“Simple Minds?” Blaine inquires, peering around Jesse’s shoulder and squinting down at Jesse’s handwriting.

“It’s a crowd pleaser,” Jesse replies stiffly, “And it shouldn’t be too difficult to transpose into a duet on the fly. If you’re up to the challenge, that is.”

Jesse hands the sign-up sheets back to a hovering, bored employee, realizing that Blaine hasn’t actually responded when he turns around to find Blaine with the oddest look on his face. 

“You want to sing a duet with me?”

He looks kind of dopey. And delighted. And hopeful. 

It’s kind of pathetic.

“Why else would we be here?” Jesse replies, before his eyes stray to the strangely familiar neon-orange sweatband that has mysteriously appeared around Blaine’s forehead. “Where did you get that?”

“It’s in the spirit of the theme,” is Blaine’s not-answer, his grin still broadening by the second. “You want to sing with me.”

Jesse frowns. “It’s hideous. I almost prefer the bowties.”

“My bowties are not hideous,” Blaine retorts immediately. “You want to sing with me.”

The latter is spoken in a ridiculous sing-song voice that tempts Jesse to do something equally as childish. Like snap that hideous sweatband against Blaine’s forehead. It would only be fair.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he says instead, looking determinedly towards the rink where they’re setting up for Karaoke night though Jesse can still see Blaine’s abnormally large smile from the corner of his eye. It’s distracting.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Blaine says after a moment and Jesse’s glad to hear that he’s dropped that horrendous teasing lilt. “We’re going to kill this thing.”

Jesse sniffs, glancing sidelong towards where Blaine is rocking on his heels and watching the staff set-up the stage with almost maniacal excitement. The lights kick in and Blaine’s ridiculous face is bathed in vivid magenta.

And it’s strange to realize that Blaine actually gets it, the thrill of performing and that yearning for the limelight. Stranger still is the realization that he actually is kind of excited to perform with Blaine. 

That isn’t the kind of thing that Jesse St. James says though, so instead he scoffs out, “Of course I am,” and leaves it at that.

-

For the record, their competition never actually stands a chance.

There’s a moment mid-song, when Jesse is wailing on a glory note that he’s certain would make Jim Kerr cry with envy, when he looks over and see’s Blaine beaming over at him, his smile so wide it looks like his jaw might actually unhinge. Like he’s one of those pythons from the Animal Planet that can swallow an entire cow whole.

But the thing that sticks with him is not, in fact, Blaine’s livestock-swallowing potential; it’s how happy he looks to be performing on stage. It’s how all of that obnoxiously positive energy that radiates off of Blaine in waves makes Jesse feel like singing on a crappy stage in the middle of a Roller-Rink in Lima is the same as singing lead with Vocal Adrenaline at Nationals.

If this is what having a real friend feels like then maybe Jesse understands the appeal now, just a little.

(He’s also starting to think that he should maybe cancel his subscription to the Animal Planet.)

-


	4. Who Do You Think You Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six Flags, Boyfriends and Revelations.

\--

 

Jesse isn’t sure how or when it happened, but he’s starting to suspect that he may actually enjoy spending time with Blaine.

Sure, a part of him would like to attribute this development directly to the afterglow of that perfect storm of a duet performed to a sea of adoring skaters in neon-coloured lycra. But Jesse has this niggling suspicion that the feelings of fondness that have begun to make themselves known around Blaine may actually pre-date that night. 

Jesse is even starting to wonder if having a real best friend could be just as beneficial as having a fake best friend. It’s a little concerning, truth be told.

There really is just one, minor setback in this new development.

-

“I don’t like you,” Hummel says, low enough that Blaine doesn’t overhear from where he is paying for his biscotti at the counter, loud enough that Jesse can’t pretend to have misheard.

For all of the ceremony that Hummel awards this grand revelation, it’s actually rather anti-climactic.

“Interesting,” Jesse replies, not even deigning to look away from his perusal of the menu board. “Because your boyfriend sure seems to like me.” 

-

For some inexplicable reason, however, Hummel’s opinion actually seems to matter to Blaine. It’s one of those things that Jesse has yet to be able to fathom about him.

Like his wardrobe.

And his hair.

And his penchant for wearing pants that show off his ankles.

But the problem with Blaine valuing Hummel’s opinion so much (and Jesse has found that where Hummel is concerned there is always going to be a problem) is that, where Jesse’s concerned, that opinion has never been very favorable. 

And Jesse can’t help but notice that things Kurt Hummel doesn’t like seem to have a habit of disappearing from Blaine’s life.

Even if it weren’t for the plan, Jesse will be damned if he’ll let Hummel be his downfall.

And it isn't like Jesse doesn't know why Hummel is suddenly so invested in the time that he and Blaine spend together after weeks of mostly ignoring their budding friendship. 

Hummel is appallingly transparent in his jealousy.

-

“I know what you’re doing,” Kurt says the moment that Blaine’s out of hearing distance, digging his straw viciously into the flavoured-ice he’s been determinedly not-eating since Blaine handed it to him.

They’re at Six Flags and for the third time since his and Blaine’s duet, Hummel has crashed one of their meetings. It doesn’t exactly take a genius to see where Hummel’s renewed interest in Blaine’s work after a month long absence from the park has come from. 

Blaine, despite Jesse’s many assurances that he didn’t actually care, had informed him that Kurt has very sun-sensitive skin. Jesse often finds himself thinking that if they were to place him on the scale of pale to pasty, Kurt would fall somewhere around the range of mole person, but he’s chosen to keep this opinion to himself.

He’s quite impressed, actually, with his own self-restraint.

Truth be told, while Jesse doesn’t particularly care about the finer nuances of Hummel’s skin (Blaine’s awful habit of attaching flowery descriptors like porcelain to it is something that Jesse’s been subtly trying to break him of since making his acquaintance.) he’s exceptionally glad for the guaranteed window of opportunity Hummel’s absence has left open for him.

Mostly, he’s just surprised that it’s taken Hummel so long to figure it out.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” Jesse replies, scooping a generous amount of flavoured-ice from his cup into his mouth and pretending not to notice the way that Hummel narrows his eyes at him.

“You are scheming, Slimy St. Weaselface,” Hummel snipes back, the grind of ice beneath his straw surprisingly loud over the noise of the crowd. “I don’t like it and I don’t like you involving my boyfriend in it.”

“You have no proof of anything of the sort,” Jesse says, digging his straw into his ice to break up the clumps. “I resent the implication that spending time with my best friend amounts to scheming.”

Jesse rather enjoys the way that Hummel visibly flinches at the collision of the words 'best' and 'friend'.

“Blaine is not your best friend,” Hummel hisses, gesturing viciously at Jesse with the shovel end of his straw. “Blaine is _my_ best friend. We are best friends. You are not.”

“You can’t be his best friend and his boyfriend,” Jesse replies as he nonchalantly scoops more ice onto his tongue. “That’s incredibly selfish of you, Hummel. If you were having relationship troubles or you were to break up, then who would Blaine have to console him?”

“We aren’t going to break up,” Kurt snaps back immediately. “And we’re not having relationship problems. What is wrong with you?”

Hummel looks like he’s seriously debating the merits of dumping his own cup of ice over Jesse’s head.

“That’s what you think now,” Jesse says, digging his straw viciously back into his own cup. “But just you wait, Hummel. Out there somewhere there is a taller, less-talented, less-handsome, inexplicably charming idiot with all the co-ordination of a Walrus who is just waiting to steal her away the second you make one measly mistake.”

“Blaine is a _him_ ,” Kurt cuts in, eyeing Jesse sharply like he’s quickly putting together too many pieces of the puzzle. “And, while I’m completely unsurprised that you’ve managed to turn this conversation into something entirely about you, I would like to point out that Blaine and I’s relationship is solid. It is built upon honesty and communication and friendship. Because we aren’t just boyfriends, we are best friends.”

And Jesse isn’t entirely sure why he’s rising to the bait, because this entire conversation should be completely beneath him, but it probably has a lot to do with the smug look on Hummel’s face.

“Oh yeah? Well, Blaine doesn’t like your sweater.”

Hummel actually gasps. It’s incredibly satisfying.

“Blaine drew a mustache on your head-shot,” Hummel shoots back, one hand clutched protectively into the cowl-neck of his seasonally inappropriate sweater.

Jesse narrows his eyes. Those head-shots were expensive.

“Blaine doesn’t like your cologne,” he snaps, jabbing his straw violently into his ice-cup. “He says it smells like old people and patchouli.”

“Blaine made your business card into an origami flower,” Hummel retorts, fingers spasming in the material of his sweater. “It’s sitting on the dashboard of his car.”

“Blaine said he likes Rachel’s Vegetarian Lasagna better than yours,” Jesse snarls. 

“You threw eggs at Rachel’s head!” Hummel explodes, his flavoured ice going flying with a furious flail of his hand.

Jesse takes the time to wipe a few flecks of ice from his face with the back of one hand before sneering, “Yeah and I also kissed your boyfriend.”

Hummel freezes, the fury on his face slowly being stamped down, back into something more refined, before he replies in a clipped, icy tone, “I know you did because he told me five minutes after it happened and, for the record, if that’s part of your grand, mysterious plan to win Rachel back than it’s no wonder UCLA kicked you to the curb.”

It hits precisely where Hummel intended it to and Jesse isn’t entirely sure that he manages to play off the resulting involuntary flinch. He has to forcibly remind himself that Hummel still labors under the misapprehension that the world outside Lima, Ohio is just waiting for him with arms wide open like the personification of some obnoxious Creed song. Hummel hasn’t even begun to know what true disappointment feels like.

“I don’t know what Blaine sees in you,” Jesse says, forcing cold neutrality into his voice as his eyes sweep the length of Hummel as if it will gain him some new insight. 

“Well, I don’t know what he sees in a washed up, twenty year old has-been,” Hummel retorts and it’s clear that Jesse’s hit a nerve somewhere.

“You’re an awful, selfish human being and Blaine might not be able to see that you’re using him, but I can,” Hummel rounds off. “I’m warning you Jesse, whatever you’re planning, leave Blaine out of it.”

Jesse looks away, swishes his straw through the melted remains of his flavoured ice and scoffs dismissively. “I’m sure it must be difficult for you to deal with your boyfriend’s best friend being so much more talented and better-looking than you, Kurt, and you have no doubt heard all about our tremendous musical chemistry, as we caused quite a stir on the karaoke circuit with our number last Tuesday, but jealousy is not a good look for you.”

“I am not-,” Hummel squawks, going wide-eyed with disbelief before he cuts himself off and starts again in a carefully neutral voice. “I am not jealous of you. You’re just trying to change the subject because you know that I’m on to you!”

“Who’s on to who?” Blaine interrupts as he strides obliviously through the pocket of tension that has had people nervously circling around the pair of them since he left and drops a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Kurt’s mouth after a cursory once-over of their surroundings.

There’s a reflexive twitching at the edge of Hummel’s lips, like he wants to smile, before the impulse is overridden and he quirks an eyebrow as he asks, “Rachel’s vegan-friendly Vegetarian Lasagna, Blaine? _Really?_ ”

Blaine’s mouth drops open in surprise, his wide eyes turning to Jesse in wounded betrayal, as he hisses, “I told you that in confidence.”

Jesse’s lips thin as he scoffs back, “A mustache?”

“And a monocle,” Kurt pipes up.

“It was cute,” Blaine protests weakly. “You’d look very distinguished with a monocle.”

“Those business cards were drawn by hand” Jesse replies glumly.

He’d spent a considerable amount of time designing them.

“Oh come on,” Blaine exclaims, whirling on Kurt with disbelief, “I can’t believe you told him about that! That was Thad. I told you it was Thad!”

“I autographed and numbered every single one so that when I’m famous all of the idiots would rue the day they spat gum into them when they’re selling for $500 a pop on E-bay,” Jesse persists like can’t hear Blaine, because guilt is a useful incentive to have under his belt and his hand had ached for hours after making those cards.

“It was Thad,” Blaine protests weakly, though he wilts apologetically under the force of Jesse’s disappointed stare.

When it becomes clear that he is going to be unmoved by the Bambi-eyes, Blaine turns them on Hummel who pointedly looks away and mutters something that sounds like, “I do not smell like patchouli,” under his breath.

“I said it reminds me of the garden at my grandparents summer home!" Blaine protests miserably before staring between them in dismay and vowing, "I am never leaving you two alone together again. Never.”

“They were hand-drawn,” Jesse adds sadly, staring off into the distance for greater effect.

“Oh alright,” Blaine sighs, glancing miserably at his watch. “They restocked their prizes at the Ring Toss the other day.”

Jesse perks up, taking care to maintain at least a convincing facade of disappointment as he inquires, “More Care Bears?”

“More Care Bears."

The look Hummel shoots him when Blaine turns to lead them both towards the ring toss booth is approaching murderous, but Jesse only smirks and raises his eyebrows as he shovels the last of his ice into his mouth.

He most definitely won that round.

\--

“Why are you waving?” Hummel grits out from behind closed teeth, his fingers fluttering a little more enthusiastically for the competition. “He’s waving at me.”

“Why would he be waving at you?” Jesse retorts, shifting to block just a little more of Hummel from Blaine's view. “You weren’t even looking in his direction. Clearly he was waving at me.”

“Why would he be waving at you?” Hummel mimics, his eyes narrowing as his hand drops back to his side.

“He always waves at me before he goes onstage,” Jesse replies, shifting his Care Bear to his other arm so it’s directly in Hummel’s line of sight. “I told him it was unprofessional to wave at someone in the crowd while you’re in full view of the audience. I will admit, with the proper dedication and the right mentor, he has a chance of becoming a halfway decent performer.”

“No,” Kurt snaps, rounding on him to jab a finger wildly in Jesse’s face, “You do not get to give him advice.”

“Just fulfilling my duty as his best friend,” Jesse retorts, before raising his hand to triumphantly return the wave Blaine gives them as he bounds out of the wings to meet his cue.

Kurt glowers over at Jesse, breathing hard through his nose before he turns stiffly to watch the performance.

(For the record, round two? Also totally his.)

\--

“It’s Tuesday,” Jesse declares, without preamble, as soon as the line picks up.

“Hello Jesse, nice to hear from you too,” Blaine replies with a confused laugh for good measure.

“Tuesday, Blaine,” Jesse retorts, “We need to make our song selection in advance so we can nail down our harmonies and co-ordinate our stage costumes.”

“Wait, is this one of those things where you have an entire conversation in your head and then tell me about it later, or-”

Jesse can hear the sounds of muzak and the hiss of an espresso machine in the background of the call. He should have known Blaine would be at the Lima Bean, he could have ambushed him there. 

He’s found that when he wants something from Blaine, his chances of success are infinitely more likely if he guilt-trips him in person. He suspects it has something to do with Blaine’s crippling daddy issues and his subsequent inability to stomach disappointed looks.

“- Jesse, hello? Are you still there?”

“Of course I am,” Jesse scoffs and takes care to loudly rustle the pages of the situations vacant he’s been ignoring so Blaine will think that he’s equally as busy. “This is important, Blaine, pay attention. I was tipped off by an anonymous source that they have officially chosen Glam Rock as the theme for the night and if we get in early-”

“I’m still not following you,” Blaine cuts in and Jesse scowls at his reflection in the glass of Humphrey’s hideously ugly cuckoo clock.

“Tuesday, Blaine,” he repeats exasperatedly then waits expectantly for Blaine to catch up.

“I don’t-” Blaine starts to say before Jesse hears something, a high, grating something, murmuring in the background of the call and it’s clear what’s been distracting him.

Jesse decides to take pity on him.

“Karaoke Tuesday,” he elaborates, rolling his eyes at his reflection and sinking back into his seat for dramatic effect.

It’s a pity that Blaine can’t actually see him.

“Oh.”

Blaine sounds guilty. 

“Um.” 

And apologetic. This will not be good. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that was a thing now. I said I’d hang out with Kurt and Rachel tonight.”

And Jesse can’t quite explain it.

It’s not like he’d actually said that Blaine was now officially invited to Karaoke Tuesdays. There’s no particular reason that he should feel disappointed or betrayed or hurt that Blaine would choose to spend the evening with his boyfriend and Rachel. Jesse’s only spending time with Blaine for one reason, after all.

Except.

Well.

He kind of does. Feel betrayed, that is. And disappointed. And hurt.

“-Jesse?”

“It’s fine,” he replies coolly and rustles the paper in front of him extra loud for effect.

“Hey, maybe we could all come? You know, Kurt and Rachel could-”

And this is precisely the point when Jesse realizes that somewhere along the line something has gone very, very wrong.

Because, instead of feeling triumphant or victorious or any of the many things he should be feeling over Blaine suggesting that Rachel tag along on one of their outings, all he feels is annoyance and the irrational sting of rejection.

And isn’t this exactly what all of his plans had been geared towards? Blaine was supposed to be his stepping-stone to get back into Rachel’s life. 

Jesse is too surprised to know what to think when he finds himself saying, “No.”

He can hear himself saying something about not wanting to limit his talent by accommodating less gifted singers and Blaine makes sympathetic, guilt-ridden noises that Jesse does his best to block out until-

“-Next week, though? You know I wouldn’t miss the celebratory microwaved nachos-”

And this is why Jesse keeps people at a distance. Caring, or whatever it is that has happened with Blaine, only presents the world with another opportunity to disappoint you.

Jesse has to cut him off, because absolutely nobody pities Jesse St. James.

Not even his fake-best friend.

So he gives an irreverent, “I’ll have to check my schedule,” and he hangs up.

(Later, Jesse will decide that round probably goes to Hummel but as he’s missing Karaoke night at Rinky Dinks for the first time in the three months since he returned to Lima, he can’t quite bring himself to care.)

\--

It's probably fitting that it's around the same time that Jesse’s plan is actually starting to play out that he realizes that the plan isn't what matters to him anymore.

\--


	5. Tell Me Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Moral of the Story.

\--

“Hi.”

Blaine’s eyes are wide and hopeful behind the figurative olive branch he is offering up through the cracked-open door. Jesse can see a Lima Bean sleeve peeking through Blaine’s fingers and the smell of green tea is wafting enticingly from the takeaway lid.

“Your uncle let me in,” Blaine adds a little nervously. “I brought Biscotti as well.”

“He’s not my Uncle,” Jesse says as he finally moves out of the door to wave Blaine in, pointedly not mentioning that he actually only ever buys Biscotti because Blaine likes it.

In retrospect, that seems kind of weird.

“Oh,” Blaine says as he shuffles through the door and clearly making an effort to not look like he’s gawking at his surroundings.

Unfortunately, despite the valiant effort, it’s still pretty clear that Blaine is gawking. At least he has the decency to look embarrassed about it when he finally turns back to Jesse.

Blaine hurriedly hands over his tea with a broader version of that same, hopeful smile as he says, “Your, um, landlord who seems to be under the impression that he’s your uncle said that you were feeling a little under the weather.”

“Humphrey,” Jesse corrects. “He gives me a discount on the rent because he thinks we’re family.”

Blaine frowns a little, like he isn’t sure what to say to that and Jesse sniffs dismissively and takes an experimental sip of his tea. It’s perfect.

“I’m actually kind of busy,” he says after taking another sip of his tea and shifting to better hide the puzzle pages in the paper he’s been working through all morning. “And I don’t know how you found out where I live.”

“It was on your business card,” Blaine replies, still hovering awkwardly near the doorway like he’s unsure if he’s welcome or not. “I thought that maybe we could run through potential song-choices for next Tuesday, or we could watch American Idol reruns and judge the contestants.”

Jesse frowns, eyeing Blaine sceptically. He looks so damned hopeful that it’s kind of tragic.

“You would make for a convincing, if uncommonly sober, Paula,” he ventures at last, begrudgingly.

“The Warblers do a mean rendition of Straight Up,” Blaine replies with a winning smile.

“Alright,” Jesse concedes. “One episode. And you have to swear to never mention that song in my presence again.”

Blaine beams at him. 

“Deal.”

\--

“I’m thinking of transferring to McKinley next year,” Blaine blurts out as Ryan sends them to commercials and the theme music plays.

Jesse quirks an eyebrow.

“It’s just,” he sinks back into the sofa cushions and peeks nervously at Jesse from the corner of his eye.“I feel like I barely get to see Kurt as it is, you know? And he and Rachel have got all these plans for next year, for schools and New York and I’m going to be stuck here in Lima for a whole other year and what if he just forgets about me?”

Jesse stares blankly at where Blaine’s watching the television screen with more intensity than a Colgate commercial really warranted and wringing his hands.

“Jesse, what if he starts wearing ironically ugly, non-prescription glasses and he goes invisible on Skype whenever I come online because I’m suddenly too top 40 for him?”

“I can’t say I see the connection,” Jesse replies cautiously.

“At the movies last night all they could talk about was New York,” Blaine elaborates with a miserable sigh before he deflates dramatically across the sofa cushions in a melancholic sprawl that Jesse’s honestly kind of impressed by. “And Kurt’s been asking me to transfer all summer..”

His head rolls across the back of the cushions to face Jesse determinedly.

“Do you think that’s too much? Too needy? To transfer because I miss him?”

“Yes.”

The surprised look on Blaine’s face suggests this is one of those moments that he was probably supposed to lie. He can’t quite bring himself to.

“McKinley is a cesspit,” Jesse elaborates, the words tumbling out of his mouth with a speed that he can’t seem to bring under control. “Transferring schools for the sake of love is a terrible idea. Someone will get their heart broken and I can tell you now that it probably won’t be Hummel.”

Blaine frowns at him and shakes his head vigorously in denial. “No, Kurt would never-”

And Jesse just can’t.

There’s a reason that he doesn’t do this. Jesse simply isn’t equipped to guard someone else’s feelings, to offer friendship or guidance or whatever the hell it is that Blaine’s looking for from him. He has problems enough of his own without Blaine’s stupid, wide-eyed sincerity chewing on his conscience for his own utter lack of it.

He doesn’t understand how anyone could be so incredibly naive, so blindly optimistic in the face of the harsh realities of life. Because the truth is, they’re exactly the same in all the ways that matter. The only difference is that Jesse knows he’s being left behind and Blaine flat-out refuses to see it.

Clearly, the Spice Girls were full of shit. All of that talk about the importance of friendship and friendship never ending was all the worst sort of lie. 

Jesse isn’t in the least bit qualified to be Blaine’s life coach or whatever the hell it is that he seems to think Jesse is now and Blaine Anderson isn’t going to get him any closer to Rachel’s world than playing the same old Lionel Ritchie song on the piano at Hear, Here! to an empty store does.

He’s done.

He has to be.

“I can’t do this,” he says out loud, staring calmly at the suddenly blank television screen.

He can feel Blaine’s eyes trained on his face and he doesn’t take the chance of looking directly at him. At certain angles, the resemblance between Rachel and Blaine can be uncanny. 

“We could watch The X-Factor instead,” Blaine offers.

“No, Blaine, I mean that I don’t have time to listen to you whine about your stupid high school problems.” He forges through the sharp, startled intake of breath from his left and stares determinedly at the dark television screen. “I thought pretending to be your friend would give Rachel the opportunity to see exactly what she’s missing, but-”

“You can’t do this anymore,” Blaine cuts in, his voice quiet.

Jesse turns at that, just a quick glance, but all he sees is the guarded look on Blaine’s face and the way that he’s curled into himself. It’s the first time that Jesse’s ever thought he looked small.

“It’s fine,” Blaine says in that same quiet, strained voice as he picks himself up, his fingers clenched tight around his empty coffee cup. “I’ll go. I wouldn’t want you to have to pretend any longer.”

Jesse doesn’t move from his seat, instead watching the flex of Blaine’s fingers as they curl and uncurl, as he hesitates, swaying indecisively on the spot, like he wants to say something else, before he shakes his head and heads for the door.

It ends just like that, with the quiet click of his door closing shut behind Blaine and the sudden, overwhelming silence of his apartment.

And any moment now, he’s sure that the uncomfortable clench of his insides will subside and everything will go back to the way it was before.

Any moment now.

\--

Jesse gets a text from an unknown number about two hours later while he’s contemplating what to do with the biscotti Blaine left behind that simply reads, _I hope it was worth it._

And, this is the punchline: it really, really wasn’t.

\--

Here are the facts:

Jesse has this very damaging habit of making a complete mess of the things that actually matter to him. He thinks it stems from the fact that he rarely allows himself to accept that things (people, really) do matter to him until he’s already screwed them up.

He sometimes thinks that that’s probably the very definition of a vicious cycle.

\--

The thing about having a routine, Jesse’s found, is that when it’s suddenly stripped from you the days seem impossibly long. He hadn’t realized how much of his day had been taken over by the plan, by texting Blaine or how many trips he made to the Lima Bean and Six Flags. 

He’s starting to wonder exactly what it was he did to fill his days before the plan.

With a loud, overblown sigh, he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and hurriedly flips channels when a commercial for the new season of American Idol comes on. (It has nothing to do with nostalgia; the new seasons are terrible. Jesse doesn’t think he’ll ever forgive them for letting Simon and Paula go.) He’d much rather watch the Discovery Channel anyway. 

And sure, maybe he picks up his phone five minutes into the documentary on Capybaras to text Blaine about how fucking terrifying they are without even realizing he’s doing it until he already has half a message typed out. 

It doesn’t mean anything. He would just really like to share the genius of his revelation about how truly uncanny the resemblance between those creatures and Finn Hudson’s stupid face is and Blaine's flustered attempts to not laugh are always endlessly entertaining.

It would be ridiculous to miss someone who was never really your friend in the first place.

\--

He’s rewatching the episode of Frozen Planet he tivo’d a few weeks ago for the third time when Humphrey finally gives up his angry shuffling to start banging furiously on the ceiling with a broom handle from downstairs.

Jesse’s pretty sure that’s a hint that he should leave his apartment for a while.

\--

The problem is that it’s like everything he used to do by himself now has some unfortunate Blaine-shaped, fun-sucking, hole in it. 

He goes to Hear, Here! but all he can think about is how, for some inexplicable reason, the owner used to go tearing into the backroom whenever Blaine entered the store, allowing Jesse free reign to rearrange the sheet music to his specifications while Blaine tinkered away on the piano and waited for him to “finish work”.

He covertly sneaks into the Lima Bean because he’s been craving their Green Tea for days and automatically orders two biscotti and a medium drip as well before he even realizes what he’s done. 

On Tuesday night he determinedly strides into Rinky Dinks, because if he’s going through with this emotional turmoil he may as well sing about it, only to find the stage has been taken down and the lights are facing out into the rink. When he stops one of the employees to ask what’s going on he only receives a pat on the shoulder and a cheerful, “It’s Roller Derby night. Karaoke is on Thursdays now.”

There is only one plausible conclusion. 

Blaine Anderson has actually ruined his life.

\--


	6. Say You'll Be There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel, Humphrey and clandestine meetings.

\--

It probably shouldn’t be such a surprise when Jesse gets home from Rinky Dinks on Thursday (Thursday) night to find Humphrey sitting at the dining table in his bathrobe, clearly waiting for him, with a tumbler full of what Jesse suspects from the smell alone to be peppermint schnapps.

And it’s probably because he’s so old, but Jesse has found that on occasion Humphrey actually does give really good advice.

“Still moping over your lady friend, I see.”

Jesse narrows his eyes.

Is he really that bad? Sure, he may have hogged the stage a bit tonight, but when your talent is as superior as his, it’s to be expected. They should make him their overlord, if tonight’s display of their collective talent is any indication. If they repent for their crimes against his ears, he may even offer some pointers.

And yes, his choice of songs had been a little depressing, but a reprisal of “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” had seemed a fitting way to exorcise Blaine from his life.

‘Will you recognize me, call my name or walk on by,’ in retrospect, could actually be his least convincing attempt at a “I’m fine” of the entire night. He should have saved reclaiming that particular song for a less emotionally driven performance.

It has certainly done nothing to quell the baffling rumors on the circuit about the exact nature of his relationship with Blaine.

“I’m not moping over Rachel,” Jesse replies stiffly as he sinks into the seat opposite Humphrey.

He’s surprised to find that’s actually true.

“I wasn’t talking about your fictional lady friend,” Humphrey grunts back indignantly before taking a long sip of his Schnapps and scowling at Jesse. “I meant the nancy-boy with the short pants who kept calling me Sir.”

“I’m not moping over anyone,” Jesse replies. If anything Blaine is probably moping over _him._

“Could’ve fooled me,” Humphrey scoffs, swilling his Schnapps around his glass so that the ice clinks and rattles. “You’ve had a permanent face like a donkey’s ass since he pranced out of here. Hell, if you weren’t blood I would have already had you shipped off to one of those island colonies for diseased folk and people who wear Jesus-creepers.”

Jesse’s found that it’s a lot easier to like Humphrey when they don’t have extended conversations.

“I may not be much with the women-folk,” Humphrey continues, like Jesse’s silence is an invitation for him to continue. “But if she’s giving you grief you should buy her something pretty. They like that.”

Jesse is almost certain that Blaine would not like that, even if he was trying to win him back or whatever Humphrey seems to be suggesting he do. 

“I think you may have misinterpreted our friendship,” Jesse says instead. 

Humphrey makes a sceptical noise and takes another gulp of his Schnapps.

Jesse frowns in annoyance, “We only became friends so I could use him to get closer to Rachel.”

Humphrey actually snorts at that. Right into his glass. It’s actually kind of disgusting. “How’d that work out for ya?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Jesse scoffs, getting to his feet and preparing to make a suitably dramatic exit.

It’s suddenly painfully clear to him now that the one person in his life who he trusts to give him actual useful (or at least somewhat sympathetic) advice right now is Blaine. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try.

Humphrey’s yell of, “We’re out of Raisinets,” follows him up the stairs.

\--

He has to try three different Rehab centers before he gets the right one and when his brother picks up the phone all he does is laugh down the line when Jesse tells him who it is, like he’s having some kind of psychotic break.

He figures he’ll try calling back another time.

\--

His sister giggles through the entirety of his story in a way that is eerily reminiscent of the conversation he had with his brother. 

Her most insightful (and by that he means, only) comment a snickered, “So you’re gay now?” before he hangs up.

\--

Jesse doesn’t bother with calling his parents. 

He’s never needed a family before now and, if he’s being entirely honest, there really is only one other person in this town who is both outside of the matter and whose opinion he implicitly trusts.

He sighs and stares down at the contacts list in his phone, thumb hovering over Rachel’s name before he presses down determinedly.

This is not even close to how he’d envisioned their inevitable triumphant reunion.

\--

He has no idea why she chose the Lima Bean for their so-called clandestine meeting.

It is probably the single most likely place in Ohio for them to be discovered together, something which she had taken great pains to stress could not happen. Of all of the things that Jesse’s missed about her, he thinks he feels the loss of her flair for drama most acutely. 

Speaking of.

He thinks that pot-plant just hissed at him.

“Jesse,” it repeats, low and urgent, before the leaves sweep aside and a hand beckons him through the greenery. 

He circles the plant curiously to find what he assumes is Rachel seated directly behind it. It’s kind of hard to tell beneath the hat. And the sunglasses. And the seasonally inappropriate coat. She looks ridiculous.

And, somehow, good.

He really has missed her.

“Sit down quickly, if anyone sees me talking to you Kurt will have me Ex-Communicated,” Rachel whispers urgently. 

Jesse raises an eyebrow, but drops into the seat opposite her and sets his tea neatly in front of him. He had been the one to ask her here, after all.

She slips those ridiculously over-sized sunglasses from her face and folds them neatly, placing them on the table next to her cup before she tips her chin to stare at him determinedly. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something.”

Jesse doesn’t really know where to begin.

“Kurt told me what you did,” she bursts out before he can even start in that same comically hushed voice, her eyes wide and slightly manic with what he assumes is meant to be disapproval but is tempered by her blatant excitement over the situation. “He says Blaine is devastated.”

Jesse is pretty sure that would usually make him feel better.

It doesn’t. 

“I just don’t understand why,” Rachel continues, her eyes wide and earnest and that perfect shade of brown.

He expects some kind of indictment to follow but she just waits for his answer, her fingers clenched tight around her coffee cup.

“I don’t know,” he admits after a moment, leaning forward to brace his forearms against the edge of the table and sighing for emphasis.

And the truth is that she is the last person he wants to say this to, the last person on earth he ever wants to know this about him, because he doesn’t want her of all people to feel sorry for him 

“I’ve always been too busy for friends before,” he admits through gritted teeth, looking away so he doesn’t have to see her reaction. “How was I supposed to know he’d take it so seriously?”

“I knew it,” she gasps triumphantly.

Jesse jerks his head around to scowl at her. “Unnecessary.”

“No,” she adds, waving her free hand wildly as if to placate him. “I meant that I knew you wouldn’t just coldly cast Blaine aside. I tried to tell Kurt but he was just so angry and he wouldn’t stop talking about patchouli and I think he said something about my lasagna, but I knew it.”

She beams at him, wide and triumphant, and something clenches hard inside his chest. 

“Except I did,” Jesse points out, because he isn’t entirely sure just what it is that Rachel thinks she knows at this stage when he’s been struggling to understand why he feels so bad about the entire thing for days. “And Blaine is a big _girl_ who probably hates me now.”

“Nonsense,” Rachel replies, leaning forward in her chair to fix him with that manic stare and a brilliant smile. “Now, tell me what happened so we can fix it.”

-

This is not how the plan was supposed to go.

Rachel is laughing at him.

It’s not even the polite, enamoured giggle he remembers from their earliest encounters. It’s her full, snorting, loud laugh and if she hadn’t drawn attention to them already with her ridiculous disguise she certainly has now.

And revealing the (well, almost the) full extent of what he has done to her, ( _for_ her, really) is humiliating. But if anyone in this town has a hope of understanding why he does the things he does, how ambition always seems to get the better of him, he thinks it's probably her.

She trails off into occasional giggles and after taking a moment to dab at the corners of her eyes with her napkin (the ceremony she attaches to the gesture convinces him that it's almost entirely for show) before she schools her face and says, "I can't believe you kissed Blaine."

Of all of the things she could have latched onto. 

"I can't believe _you_ kissed Blaine," he retorts.

She colors a little at that but forges on like she hadn't heard him. "It's just, I don't think that's the message the Spice Girls were trying to convey with that song, Jesse."

He's tempted to bring up her own questionable history of taking a rather liberal approach to the interpretation of her lyrics, but really he's kind of stuck on the fact that she is making fun of him. "I can't believe that after everything I just told you you're making fun of me."

"It's just that now I know why Kurt is so angry. I should have realized, you know, you've always been so impeccably groomed and Blaine, admittedly, is quite a good kisser-"

Jesse stares at her, uncomprehending, before it clicks. "I am not _gay_ , Rachel."

"I didn't say you were!" she replies hurriedly, "But I mean, if you were, say, confused or-"

“I don’t believe this.”

“It’s okay, Jesse, if you have questions my Dads would be-”

"I am not having a sexuality crisis!"

In retrospect, that is probably exactly the kind of thing that should not be yelled in the middle of a moderately crowded coffee shop when trying to stay under the radar.

Jesse isn’t having a very good week.

He takes a deep breath, glancing surreptitiously around at the predictably staring occupants of the other tables, before levelling a determinedly calm stare at Rachel. “Blaine was a better than average Karaoke partner and, yes, he did have an uncanny talent for ring toss, but that is all.”

She doesn’t seem convinced. Instead she’s just sort of smiling sadly at him, “He’s your friend, Jesse. You miss him.”

And, well, that’s actually pretty accurate.

Huh.

“Don’t worry,” she assures him determinedly with another manic smile. “I have a plan. Just leave it to me.” 

\--

It’s with those terrifying words ringing in his ears that Jesse finds himself sitting outside of the Lima Bean, staring blankly at the passing traffic as he’s struck by the realization that Rachel is actually right.

Well.

Not about the gay thing.

But he does miss having Blaine as a friend. As his best friend, really. 

He grunts in annoyance as someone drops onto the bench next to him, completely oblivious to his inner turmoil, their headphones blaring at an inadvisable volume. 

The thing is, Jesse has never had friends. Not real friends.

He’d had his teammates, of course, but that had been a fellowship of convenience. He’s certain that every single one of them had been (in some cases, not so) secretly hoping he would fall off the stage on any given day. They would have crawled over his prone body to get to the spotlight if they’d had to. 

He knows, because he would have done the same thing when he was in the chorus. It was the Vocal Adrenaline way.

UCLA had been different, though he hadn’t realized that until long after the damage was done. The Vocal Adrenaline way had never been meant to win friends. It had just been meant to win.

Even that had failed him, in the end.

Jesse shifts uncomfortably, eyeing the girl sitting next to him in annoyance as she half-whispers along with her obnoxiously loud music. Her voice husky and toneless as she whispers, “ _If you, put two and two together you will see what our friendship is for,_ ” along with whatever bouncy, nineties pop she’s listening to.

It’s all, actually, strangely familiar.

He’s about to open his mouth to tell her how tragic she is, because he’s trying to have a moment here and she’s utterly destroyed it with her inability to provide a suitable score, when a bus rolls up to the curb and she gets up, still singing to herself.

“Your taste in music is atrocious,” Jesse tells the door of the bus as it hisses shut behind her. 

It doesn’t really help.

\--


	7. Viva Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word.

\--

The text in itself is nothing extraordinary. It reads in it’s entirety: _Rinky Dinks, tomorrow. 6pm._

The part that sticks though, is that it also reads, From: Blaine.

(The text he receives half an hour later from an unknown number that reads, _You better not screw this up St. James_ is considerably less cryptic. Hummel isn’t exactly known for his subtlety.)

\--

Jesse doesn’t really know what to expect when he shows up at Rinky Dinks. 

There’s a momentary burst of relief when he sees Blaine’s ugly mom-mobile parked a few spaces away from the entrance to the rink, but he’s already scowling when he realizes he can hear the low, heavy thump of the bass inside. A part of him can’t help but feel a little bitter over how full the parking lot is on a Tuesday night.

Jesse’s so preoccupied with glaring in the direction of the line of spectators who are crowding into the stands around the rink, that he almost doesn’t notice Blaine, standing just inside the entrance-way and staring inside with a bemused expression.

Blaine hasn’t noticed him yet and Jesse isn’t sure how to approach him, he hesitates for a moment, eyeing Blaine’s face carefully (because Rachel had said Blaine was devastated) but he doesn’t look much different than any other day. There’s the obligatory hideous bowtie and too much gel. Truth be told, Blaine mostly just looks confused. 

“Hello again.”

Blaine’s head whips around, his nose still wrinkled in that faint confusion he’d been regarding the rink with, though it quickly melts away into something Jesse suspects was meant to be cool indifference but is utterly undermined by Blaine’s ridiculous wounded Bambi-eyes. “Jesse.”

He turns his head back toward the rink, his eyes narrowed in what Jesse suspects might be Blaine’s version of pissed off. 

They watch in silence as a group of skaters spill out into the ring, simultaneously wrinkling their noses at the riotous cheers from the spectators before Blaine breaks the silence to say, “What is this?”

“Roller Derby,” Jesse replies. “Karaoke is on Thursday’s now.”

Blaine’s head whips around, with a disbelieving, “Thursday?”

Jesse shrugs as if to say, _I know_ , and Blaine seems to remember just who he’s talking to and schools his face back into his former scowl. 

“Rachel suggested I express my feelings towards you through song,” Blaine mutters as he turns back to stare at the rink with a miffed expression. “I managed to narrow my choices down to two Kelly Clarkson songs in the car.”

Jesse manages to refrain from the very pressing desire to laugh, if only because he’s almost certain that Blaine is entirely serious. Though, judging by the way Blaine is scowling at him again instead of the crowd of spectators, he isn’t entirely successful in hiding his amusement.

“ _Angry_ Kelly Clarkson songs,” Blaine clarifies, like that will help his case.

To try and cover the unattractive (and entirely unhelpful) snort of laughter, Jesse tips his head in the direction of the snack bar and raises an eyebrow. “Microwaved Nachos?”

Blaine sniffs, not even looking back as he stalks off towards the snack bar with a cursory, “You’re buying,” as his only answer.

\--

They find a booth that blocks the sight of the rink and sit warily on opposite sides, Jesse watching as Blaine halfheartedly jabs at the gooey cheese with a tortilla chip and sighs, loud enough to be audible over the persistent thump of bass and roar of the crowd.

“These kind of grow on you,” Jesse announces as he crunches on a tortilla chip and tries to ignore the way Blaine sighs again, louder this time.

Jesse can’t remember ever feeling quite so out of his depth before.

“Look, Blaine,” he starts, nudging aside his bowl of nachos so he can lean forward without risking an elbow coated in melted cheese. “I’m sorry, about what I said the other day.”

Blaine scoffs beneath his breath and stabs his tortilla chip ruthlessly into the melted pool of cheese, refusing to look up.

“I mean, technically, it was true,” Jesse continues thoughtfully. “Our friendship was founded upon a very clever ruse to bring Rachel and I back together-”

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at apologizing?” 

“No.” Jesse retorts, narrowing his eyes a little as he continues. 

“I’ve,” And, god, Jesse hates improvisation. He wishes he had a script for this because it matters, this time around. Blaine has to understand what he’s saying here. “I’ve never really _had_ a best friend before.”

He sees it the moment that Blaine’s resolve softens, the way his fingers drum indecisively on the edge of the table and he sinks back into the booth a little. He still looks wounded and defensive, but at least he’s listening.

“Here.”

He notes the slight quirk of one of Blaine’s eyebrows as he rummages into his pocket in search of the list he knows is in there somewhere, smoothing it open carefully before he pushes it across the table towards Blaine. 

A part of him expects Blaine to ignore it entirely, to keep staring into the depths of his bowl like his nachos might contain the secrets of the universe. But after a moment Blaine sighs, rolls his eyes and leans over to seize the paper.

Jesse studies Blaine’s face as he reads over the list with it’s hastily crossed out titles, realizing for the first time that it’s possible that Blaine won’t forgive him. 

He’s surprised to find just how much the prospect unnerves him.

“Jesse,” Blaine’s voice has dropped some of the edge it’s been carrying all afternoon, replaced with a hint of confusion as he smooths his fingers across the rumpled paper carefully. “What exactly am I looking at?”

“I have constructed a list of songs which I feel both adequately summarize our situation and my feelings about it,” Jesse replies.

Jesse is almost certain he sees the beginnings of a smile tugging at one corner of Blaine’s lips before it’s shut down and Blaine stares intently at the list in front of him. It takes only moments for it to return again.

“These, um,” Jesse watches as Blaine’s eyes flick up to meet his briefly, before the twitching of his lips threatens to spill over into something more permanent and Blaine ducks his chin to hide it. “You wrote a list of apology songs.”

Jesse shifts a little in his chair, unable to stop the squirm of discomfort that starts to take over whenever he suspects someone might be making fun of him and narrows his eyes. “What of it?”

“It’s nothing,” Blaine replies hurriedly, seemingly unable to hold back the wide grin that breaks across his face.

“Are you laughing at my apology?” Jesse exclaims before he can stop himself, his fingers clenching furiously as the low thrum of the bass shudders through his bones and another loud cheer erupts from the direction of the rink. 

“No,” Blaine insists in a strained voice, his lips pressed hard together as he shifts, tugging the list out of Jesse’s reach when he leans forward to snatch it back.

And Jesse actually can’t believe that Blaine Anderson is sitting across the table from him, in a particularly ugly bowtie with what he suspects might actually be unicorns printed on it, and laughing at him. Him.

“Give it back,” he insists, starting to get to his feet to try and reach across the table better, but Blaine is clutching the list to his chest now and shaking his head vigorously, his chin trembling from the effort of restraining his laughter.

“I’ve decided I no longer wish to apologize,” Jesse snaps. “Give it back.”

“I’m not laughing,” Blaine insists with a valiant attempt at a straight face before the smile on his face breaks loose again and he gives up the pretense entirely. “It’s sweet.”

Jesse glares pointedly. “It isn’t sweet, I only made it because Rachel told me how devastated you were over our falling out.”

“Funny,” Blaine retorts, seemingly completely unable to get rid of the grin on his face. “Because she said the exact same thing to me about you. As well as something about this being a tough time for you, what with you questioning your-”

“I’m not having a sexuality crisis,” Jesse hisses before Blaine can even finish.

It’s really a sign of the times that he almost can’t believe how easily Rachel had played them both. He’s clearly forgotten just how devious she can be when she wants something.

Blaine raises his hands in surrender, though Jesse suspects that behind the easy smile on his face lurks more teasing to come. 

“So what exactly were you planning to do with this list?” Blaine asks finally, still clutching the crumpled paper protectively to his chest like Jesse might try to snatch it back again.

“I considered recording a mixed CD of-”

Jesse stops, narrowing his eyes when he realizes Blaine’s shoulders are actually shaking with the force of withholding his laughter. 

“I’m sorry,” Blaine replies miserably through his attempts to hold back his laughter. “This is actually one of the nicest if not most surreal apologies I’ve ever received.”

Jesse scowls pointedly and Blaine shakes his head again, the smile slipping to something a little gentler as he chews on his lower lip before leaning forwards to rest his elbows on the table.

“For the record,” Blaine begins carefully. “You’re my best friend too.”

Jesse raises his eyebrows as Blaine looks down at the table and sighs before seemingly forcing himself to continue, “Before we started dating I always felt like I had to impress Kurt, you know? And he’s really great but sometimes I feel like there’s things I can’t talk to him about and-”

Blaine frowns, takes a breath and looks down at his hands as he says, “I just wanted to say that, the last week and a half not withstanding, I really like being friends with you.”

Jesse feels a little stupid about how pleased that makes him and he doesn’t doubt that the smile on his face looks utterly ridiculous so he scoffs and says, “Of course you do.”

Blaine rolls his eyes, unable to stop from smiling as he drags his nachos back in front of him before raising his eyebrows inquisitively, “So, Karaoke Thursdays then?”

Jesse nods, unable to keep from smirking as he agrees, “Deal.”

Blaine beams back at him, before he glances down, schooling his face and feigning interest in his bowl of lukewarm nachos as he asks, “So, was that a Spice Girls song I saw crossed out on that list or -”

Jesse stiffens, narrowing his eyes in response as he replies, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

\--

If there’s one thing that Jesse’s starting to realize, it’s this:

The Spice Girls may, in their own inscrutable way, have gotten it right. 

Well, not so much with the confusing double-meanings and rife with implications lyrics like, _you gotta get with my friends_ , but in essentials, he thinks he understands where they were coming from.

It’s not that he’s given up hope on Rachel one day realizing that her Manatee of a boyfriend is the anchor weighing her down from becoming the star she was born to be. It’s that he’s realized that he doesn’t have to give up hope on himself.

He may not have gotten the girl in the end but he somehow wound up with a best friend for his troubles. And really, it’s not that bad of a deal. 

Most of the time.

“This is my thinking bench, Blaine,” Jesse grits out, closing his eyes to try and tune out the soft humming from the person at his side. “Has anyone ever told you that you have the personality of a much larger person?”

He can almost hear Blaine wrinkle his nose in response, unsure whether that was meant to be intentionally offensive or not. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Blaine replies after some deliberation.

Jesse fights the urge to pinch his nose or roll his eyes (or possibly push Blaine off the edge of the bench) but is distracted by the arrival of another person dropping down onto the seat, far too close for comfort, on his other side.

Jesse opens his eyes to properly glower and finds Blaine peering curiously around him at the newcomer, whose headphones are blaring loud enough for both of them to hear. Jesse isn’t the least bit surprised when Blaine actually beams and says, “Hey, is that the Spice Girls?”

The girl doesn’t appear to notice, rummaging through her purse and humming tunelessly away to herself until a bus pulls up to the curb and she gets up to wander off, leaving a vaguely bemused Blaine behind and Jesse to scowl after her.

The doors hiss shut behind her and Jesse frowns after the bus as it pulls away from the curb, leaving them in complete silence.

“Hey Jesse,” Blaine asks after a moment of thoughtful deliberation. “Do you have any idea what a zig-a zig-ah is?”

“No idea,” Jesse replies with a shrug. “Want to go to Hear, Here! and practice our duet for Thursday on the piano?”

Blaine beams at him.

“That sounds like a plan to me.”

\--


End file.
